“This isn’t a fight. That implies there’ll be an end to it.” The seesaw between bruising longing and white-hot rage flips as anger rises in my throat. I scrub the tears off my face with the heel of my hand. I press so hard I’m afraid I’ve bruised the stinging skin under my eyes. I don’t want to hit him, but I hope my words land like a blow. “And I’m going to hate you forever.”

From the back of his throat comes a breath, like the very beginnings of a laugh.

“What?” I demand.

“I—”

“Were you going to say you’re going to love me forever?” I taunt.

“You know me so well.” He opens his mouth to continue, but I shake my head, silencing him.

“I have to leave,” I say.

He looks at me through his thick lashes. His eyes well, but no tears fall. “Home?”

“No.”

“Let’s go, then.” He goes to rise from the bench, but I shake my head no.

“This is something I need to do alone.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Finn, to his credit, let me go. He watches me with narrowed eyes as I rise from the bench and take off down the cobblestoned streets.

By the time I arrive at Saint Bosco’s my legs are burning, but I barely feel it. I barely feel my body at all.

My father isn’t in his office. I pace the small space back and forth, back and forth, feeling like there’s something awful crawling through my chest and up the back of my throat.

I keep my eyes upward, staring at the ceiling as I pace, relishing the way staring at the overhead electric light leaves spots as I blink. Every time I close my eyes, I see the skeletons of the catacombs, piled on top of one another. I want to burn them out of my corneas.

After what feels like a very long time, when I am sure I have worn permanent marks in the floor, my father finally walks in.

He jumps at the sight of me and clutches his chest in surprise. “Oh, Frances!” he exclaims. “Did I misremember a scheduled meeting?”

“No,” I pant. “But I needed to see you urgently.”

My father blinks in surprise, but sinks down in his chair and looks at me with his full attention.

Everything hurts because I’m nineteen and life is long. I don’t know how to keep living like this. But I know I won’t make it much longer if I don’t change something.

Maybe I’ve learned something from Finn after all: the importance of a confession.